Jack's Early Life
by EXPRESSIONship
Summary: Let's go back 17 years before the strike. We go to his childhood and explore several aspects of his early life. Learn just how responsible his parents were, discover how he ended up in the refuge... We'll get all the way up to strike. R&R read and review is all I ask!
1. Chapter 1: Family Life

**This is my first ever story. PLEASE bear with me on this: In this chapter, and some parts in the next chapter, I will have to use "Francis Sullivan" as supposed to "Jack Kelly". "Artistic vision" I suppose. But, when you're done, that button on the bottom that you click to submit a review... please, please, PLEASE use it! I cannot stress it enough. Soon, I'm gonna be writing a lot more, flooding the page with Newsie fanfictions I wrote on my very own! And you all have two choices: let the oncoming flood of writing become better, or deal with my now horrible writing... In short: review.**

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He had many names: Dreamer, Manhattan's Leader, even Cowboy. He was better known as Jack Kelly by his fellow newsies. However, because his rightful name was Francis, for this chapter, we'll call him Francis.

Let's go back 19 years before the strike. Yes, we're going back to two years before Francis's birth. His parents' names were Jane and Charles. They were in love. No, they were more than in love, they were smitten. They were head over heels for each other. Soon enough, they married each other.

Then, Charles became a drunkard. He became abusive. He became violent. He was, in a word, a mess.

As much as Jane wanted to leave Charles and be with another man, it was considered scandelous to divorce in those days. As much as she resisted the temptation of an affair, it was bound to happen. She became pregnant... with the wrong man...

Francis was born.

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_God, please forgive me. I know that it was wrong to go behind my husband's back. I know I broke the Commandment, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife." It was just, I'm always trapped. First, my parents. Then, Charles. But, listen, I really needed a baby. Something to say that this marriage was worth it. Apparently, it wasn't considering the fact that I had to make love with another man and not Charles. But I can't make myself do it with that beast; I just can't. But, don't let Charles kill me. Now that he's born, my boy won't stand a chance against him. God, let something convince Charles that the boy was his. Please. _

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God seemed to answer her prayers. Lucky for Jane, the man wasn't very bright. She convinced him and that was that.

As Francis grew, Jane was as loving a mother as ever. She was very responsible. Unlike most women who stuck at home as a housewife, she worked at a gun factory. She would take a cent or two of the money she earned each week and set it aside for Francis's education. That may not seem like a lot, but considering the circumstances, that's amazing.

Isn't it amazing how responsible parents can be?

Now, as for Francis's father, Charles Sullivan, he was the exact opposite. He was a drunken mess who worked at the same gun factory, earning a smaller wage. He took out a lot of his "fits" on his wife. When Jane's back was turned, he was obliged to give Francis a beating as well. He would waste much of the money he earned on liquor for him to drink. He couldn't care less about the boy even though he was genuinely convince that he boy was his son.

Isn't it amazing how irresponsible parents can be?

You see, this family was any average family in those days; as hard as life seemed, the family, if you could call it a family, would always scrape by somehow.

One day, when Francis was four, his mother was in an accident at the factory. Both of her arms were completely severed. The doctors couldn't do anything about it, and she died in agony. What resulted? Charles could beat his son up as much and as often as he wanted. He could order Jack around, and Jack couldn't do anything about it. Jack, much to his dismay, became a cleaning boy.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Charles did not know how to cook. The poor man was lucky to get a wife before he turned drunk! On one of Charles's better days, he could make some burnt porridge, but that was about it. For the first couple days, Jack refused to eat at all. But, hunger got the better of him, and he settled with the skimpy, meager meal.

Charles wasn't a bad man though! Deep, deep, deeeeeep in his heart, he was a good father. As unconvincing as it may seem, he really cared. On one of his better days, he told his son this: "Francis, me boy, ya should do whateva ya can ta stay alive, ya hear me? Ya can even steal if ya haf ta. Just promise me this, me boy. Promise me that beggin' will always be a last resort, ya hear me?"

You see? He cared enough to say that. So what, the stealing part wasn't very appropriate, but this was Francis's first and only lesson from his Dad: Not to starve.

Soon, at the age of five, Francis started to apply this. One day, he decided that he couldn't take his father's burnt porridge anymore and decided to take a tomato from the market. You know what happened? He wasn't caught! He just took one, and no one complained. He started to do it more and more frequently, getting more and more confident. We all know what happens as you become more confident in something you do. You start to get careless. That's exactly what happened to our hero.

Then, the inevitable—he was caught.

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**Hope y'all liked it so far! PLEASE review! **


	2. Chapter 2: A Day in Court

**I would like to thank the people who shared their opinion and reviewed. I am so happy that SOME PEOPLE decided to review and voice out their opinions! It's people like you who encourage writers to continue to write! **

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this next chapter. I know, I'm not really good at law and everything, but I hope you grace me with reviews and possibly some additional details that may be good to add in... or maybe some corrections in the matters of law... **

**Enjoy!**

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Francis and his father were called to court. On the way to the courthouse, Charles said, "Francis, me boy, I can't believe ye would go an' steal, jus' like that. What was yous thinkin'? Dat yous is da King o' New York?"

The naïve five-year-old was very annoyed at his father. First, he says that it's ok to steal. Now, he's getting reprimanded for it? But, he had to take it. Otherwise, he'd get a spanking and not be able to sit down in court.

OHHH! Never ya mind, my boy. Just lemme do the talkin'. Lemme show ya how it's done." And with that, Charles finished his second bottle of beer. Francis was doomed.

When the two arrived at the court, they were very out of place. A rag-tag, father-son pair in the middle of a crowd of scheming business men in neat suits and judges in velvet black robes… makes an interesting sight as you could imagine. Even the men convicted of bigger crimes were in uniform black and white stripes! The Sullivan's were in brown and beige and dust and dirt and mud… their best clothes.

"Would everyone please arise?" said the bailiff. Everyone stood. "Presenting Judge Monahan."

Out came a rather fat old man. He was quite short and portly, and Jack disliked him from the start. "Please be seated."

Everyone was seated.

"Would Mr. J. D. Slammer please come to the front?"

A brawny, rather handsome man came up to the front.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or God so help you?"

"I do," came out a low, gruff voice.

"Sit down."

What followed were a series of long, boring talks. Francis wanted to go to sleep, but his father pinched him every time he dozed off. Everyone pled innocent, even though they were definitely guilty in the boy's mind. Why else would they be in court anyway?

Then, "Would Mr. Francis Sullivan please come to the front?"

The boy's head snapped up at the call of his name. He walked up, slowly and nervously, and took off his hat as a sign of respect.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or God so help you?"

The boy hadn't any idea what that string of fancy words were supposed to mean, but knew if he said no, he'd get in trouble.

"Yeah," was his casual, yet nervous answer. A slight, low chuckle came from the judge, though Francis didn't know what was so funny about being accused of a crime.

"Are you represented by a counsel?" asked the judge.

"What's a consle?" asked Francis.

"No counsel, then, well that'll move things along nicely, well—"

"Uh, your honah, I'm his counsel," interjected his father.

"Well, then git ovah here and make ya openin' statement!" yelled the judge.

Charles frowned slightly and made his way up. He already hated the judge.

"Well," began Charles, as he cleared his throat, "Argument A: In my opinion, I—"

"No, no, not your arguments. Your opening statement. You do know what an opening statement is, right?" asked Judge Monahan condescendingly.

"No, I do not, ya honah," answered his father, trying to act innocent, trying to hold in an outburst that was bound to happen; for he hated being belittled.

"You're not a licensed lawyer, sir?" interrogated Judge Monahan, putting on his most intimidating face.

"No," said Charles, curtly, hoping the cursed Judge would stop talking like that.

"Well, then I can't let you represent this boy. Do you know that impersonating a lawyer is an illegal offense?"

"No," said Charles even more curtly than before. He clenched his fists as if it were the only thing that would stop the world from blowing up.

The judge chuckled patronizingly, "You are lucky I do not hold it against you. Next time, don't be so ignorant and hire a judge. In fact, why don't you teach your kid what's right? Then, we wouldn't be having this problem in the first place."

Charles became red with anger. If there was anythin' that made his blood boil, it was when anyone acted smarter than him and _actually_ dared to correct him in public. He snapped, "What da hell are all those fancy words supposed ta mean, eh? I tell ya what, _ya honah_… let's cut all da jibber-jabber crap and cut right ta da chase. My son, heah was stealing a _little_ food from the cart. So what? He was starvin' from da little, crummy food he got from me. Who cares? Only this sleazy little miser would take it so far as to prosecute an ignorant child in court," he said pointing to the owner of the salad cart. "And, are ya questioning my parenting skills? Which would ya rathah do? Let your kid starve and sit by ta watch? Or would ya rathah let them survive? Hmm?"

"Well, I—" began the shocked judge, but Charles never let him finish.

"No, ya know what? Maybe ya don't undastand. Ya come from da _high-class_. Isn't that right? And ya don't care about da lower class so long as ya get ya paycheck!"

"Well, you—"began the judge again.

"And ya can't find it in ya heart ta let the lowah class win for once? I'se seen ya work today. Ya nevah let them have da benefit of da doubt, could ya? Ya just have ta give the benefit to yo kind… da kind wit a decent job. There's a word fo people like ya. It's called prej'diced. Yah heah me? PREJ'DICED!"

Now, it was the judge's turn to get mad. No one, and I mean no one, tells Judge Monahan how to do his job (At least no one _lower_ than him... someone rich and refined like Governor Roosevelt or Warren Snyder is in the right). He hit the desk with his gavel repeatedly, 'BANG! BANG! BANG!' He did so until Charles quieted down.

"You listen to me, you! You stop your whining and read my lips! And my judgment is that the boy is sentenced to six months in the Refuge. You, my dear sir," said the disgruntled judge, "are going to jail for life, as you have insulted a public official."

Just now, it all dawned on Charles, "Ya, honah, I didn't mean any offense…"

"CASE CLOSED."

And with a hit of a gavel, they were arrested and sent off to fulfill their sentences.


End file.
